


Requiem for Eastern Gales

by theoceanpath



Series: Constellations Dance on Your Skin [2]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-11-24 08:38:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20904782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoceanpath/pseuds/theoceanpath
Summary: 🐚





	1. Requiem for Eastern Gales

Orange skies are plagued with passing fish shoals when the _Moulin Rouge_ finally lowers her anchor in the bay. The air rings with a chorus of whistles, not a single whale or dolphin in sight.

"They're coming," someone hollers from the crow's nest.

"Who?" asks Prometo, fingers inching toward his newly-repaired scabbard as his eyes scan the horizon for rival pirate ships.

"Mermaids."

The whistles are getting louder by the minute.

"It's them alright. They're here!" shouts Chan, the honorary first mate.

Prometo watches the sea curiously. A floating ring bobs above the waves, and before his eyes a woman emerges from the depths, bare-chested and devoid of protection from the cold waters save a piece of fabric wrapped around her head and a thin loincloth. She sucks in a lungful of briny air and disappears below the surface.

"Hey! That's a foot!" Prometo points out.

The captain yawns. "So?"

"She doesn't have a tail!"

"A what?" Chan sputters.

"A tail! What kind of mermaid doesn't have a tail?"

The half-Chinese lookout blinks as comprehension slowly dawns on him. "Oh my goodness, Prometo. Have you never heard of the _haenyeo_?"

"The hae-what? Is that some kind of sea nymph?" Prometo shouts over the spray of seafoam blasting at their faces, and Chan takes it upon himself to educate the newest member of their crew.

_Haenyeo_. Korean pearl divers. All hopes Prometo ever had of hearing a siren song at least once before he dies get ripped to pieces that night.

* * *

"Are you a _haenyeo_?" he asks one of the girls.

Who upon closer look is in fact, not a girl, but a teenage male who looks far too skinny to survive the pounding waves.

The boy grimaces.

No.

"Well, what are you?"

His nose crinkles. It's a little bit cute. And a little bit strange, for someone whose very existence seems to be plucked straight out of a myth.

"Rei-ki-en," he whispers, and disappears beneath the surface.

Prometo's eyes follow the dark curves of the water, waiting for the boy to show up again. But the sea today is a wild, wild shade of green. He surrenders.

* * *

"I saw a boy in the water," he tells Captain Moir while scrubbing wine stains from the deck. His back hurts. The rigging hates him.

His friend claps him on the shoulder. "Whoaw, a male diver? What a rare find. Almost all pearl divers are women, since their bodies can withstand the cold better."

"He looked Japanese. I asked if he's one of the _haenyeo_, but he shook his head."

"If he's Japanese, he goes by a different name. They're called _ama_. Same thing, more or less. Say, how deep was the water when you found him? Was it open sea?"

"No, we were close to the shallows."

"Ah, that was _kachido_-style. The girls we saw last week were diving _funado_-style. You saw the heavy stuff tied around their waists, right? It helps them go deeper."

_"_And just how did this strange tradition begin?" Prometo wonders.

"Good question." The captain pauses to gulp down the remains of his drink and wipe his mouth on his tattered sleeve. "See, according to the stories, they used to be men, but about a couple hundred years ago, the fishermen were dying left and right, so the women took over. They're still at it today, although there's a certain faction who prefer to dress in white robes when they dive."

The captain leaves him to his thoughts. He grabs a bottle and readies his throwing arm to pitch it over the hull, but decides against it. The last shipment of cargo they stole from the English didn't have a single gun onboard. He's seen more than a few pairs of eyes staring in envy at his sword, and if worse comes to worst, this would at least make a decent weapon.

Not like he's itching to get into a fistfight soon, or ever again.

* * *

Two months later he sails toward the Japanese coast aboard another ship, the _Dulcinea_, feasting happily on a plate of cured ham, when someone gets the brilliant idea to send him flying over starboard. The top of the prow is very, very, high, and he is very, very, sure he's going to die. Hands tied in sloppy knots, not tight enough to bruise but enough to ensure he sinks, he falls over and splashes into the liquid darkness.

_Dying, dying, dead…_

And someone saves him.

"Requiem!" He coughs out saltwater. "It's really you!"

The boy in the loincloth unties his bonds, eyebrows raised as if to ask what happened.

"They threw me out," he gasps, a bit too exhausted right now to swim to shore on his own. "Ugh. They tossed me overboard and they didn't even give me a knife."

Reiki-en grips his arms to steady him as he attempts to expel the water trapped in his ear. "Why? Did you do something wrong?"

"How am I supposed to know? They were drunk!"

* * *

"So, what do you know about Spain?" Prometo inquires the next afternoon, aching limbs and drowsy eyelids craving his usual siesta.

"You have big ships and big guns," replies Reiki-en. He's helping his sister sort out the shells, seaweed, and a few trinkets he found in the sand, and Prometo is… Prometo is plotting how to rob a cruise ship.

"Anything else?"

"Your food tastes weird."

Prometo stretches his leg, knocking into a heap of abalones. More women enter the pearldivers' hut, nets full from a whole day of scouring the seabed for food. Everyone is almost nude save for the loincloth, bandana, and a blunt knife for prying shellfish off the ocean floor. One of them has a beautiful milky white jewel in her hand, and the others gather to congratulate her.

"Hey Requiem, what's the secret to finding pearls?"

The boy throws a starfish at his feet. It's blue, rough, and not beautiful. "The secret is to make oysters cry so hard that they weep their eyeballs out."

Prometo lays the starfish on his chest like a shield and falls asleep.

* * *

"And in the storm-ridden night, amid the crashing waves echoing the thrum of battle in his ear, the mermaid's eyes are like a bacon assuring him all hope is not lost."

"Beacon, Requiem. It's _beacon_."

"Beacon," he repeats with a confused frown. "Like a star? A firefly? A burning house?"

"Like a castle full of light."

The boy squints as if he's searching for hidden writing on Prometo's forehead. "Are you a prince?"

Teeth bite down, hard. He tastes blood on his tongue. "Honestly," he uncrosses his legs and scoots over to the battered edge of the wharf, "do I look like one?"

_I look like a beggar,_ he muses. No gold, no sword, no boat. And too many holes in his clothes.

"I think… Prometo looks kind. Your eyes are very gentle."

He can't help the laugh that escapes from his mouth. "Gentle? You really think so? I'm a pirate. Can't have kind eyes."

"But you're not a very good pirate. They threw you out, right?"

Touche.

He proceeds to tickle Reiki-en until tears leak from his half-lidded mermaid eyes.

* * *

It's been three days since he was rescued by Reiki-en. Prometo needs to find a way to pay for his food. He also needs new trousers.

What he gets is two small fish and an earful of whistling sounds when the mermaids breach the surface. There's another boy with Reiki-en today. He's not from around here. He's tall.

"I can't hold my breath long enough," Reiki-en complains, after the day's work is over and both of them are simply floating on their backs. It's so serene, so idyllic, so perfect. Yes, this is why Prometo has always loved the sea.

Reiki-en keeps whining. "One minute is not enough! My mother could hold hers for two minutes."

"Two whole minutes? That's insane."

"I have to improve my technique. I must become stronger."

"I need a job."

That puts an end to Reiki-en's rambling. He gets to his feet and resumes treading water. "You can become an _ama_ too."

"Thanks, but I prefer my swashbuckling costume."

He finds a pink jellyfish floating by and pats it on the head. His fingers twitch.

* * *

It's been three days and one night. They're standing by the port. Reiki-en doesn't have his net with him and Prometo doesn't have a clue where he's going. A single silver coin isn't exactly a treasure, but he pockets the money Reiki-en gives him and promises to spend it well.

"So, you're leaving," says Reiki-en. Prometo pretends he doesn't hear the faint note of sadness in that tone.

"Yeah. I had fun for three days and now the real world is calling to me."

"Are you coming back?"

"Maybe," he shrugs noncommittally. "So long! Thanks for everything!"

He strides away. Reiki-en whimpers. He turns around.

"I'll miss you," Reiki-en tells him, and who in the seven seas is he kidding. Of course he's coming back.

"Hey, I'm a pirate. If fate is kind, we'll meet again. If not, well, rest assured I'll be lurking somewhere in the bottom of the ocean."

Reiki-en nods. Prometo messes with his hair. "See you soon, Requiem," he breathes into the windswept black strands— a gamble, a wish, a plea. It's no promise, for he has never been good at keeping those.

"Okay."

Fierce eyes are the last to register in the pirate's mind as his breath dissipates in the turbulent gale and the pearl diver flings himself back into the sea.


	2. Chapter 2

A cannon booms in reminiscence of a send-off to the afterlife; he tosses his binoculars into the air and trades in brine-soaked garments for a second chance and a path back here. The former pirate looks beyond the gull-studded skies and battalions of seaweed and spots a figure by the shore covered in strings of olive shells and seaglass.

_Requiem._

The tide begins to hum again, hoarse and bored as it always sounds in his daydreams. Prometo grins, picks up his rusty blade, and hums back.

_A serenade for a serenade, and no one's crying this time._

Shells jingle louder as Reiki-en approaches. The makeshift garment curves around his torso and arms in luminous earthen colors, mimicking the dance of sand and waves.

"Prometo!"

And then the boy and the shells and the chains of cabbage green are wrapped around him, sea scent and windswept hair exactly the same as he remembers. It feels like a homecoming— an old friend with sand and kelp all over his ankles and an even older friend standing watch in all its amorphous, relentless glory.

Yes, he misses the sea.

And maybe, maybe in some corner of his mind he doesn't regret throwing everything away for this.


	3. Chapter 3

"Requiem!" Prometo calls to the shifting expanse of blue-green, voice straining against a sudden gust. The boy is further offshore, busy dipping something in the water. When he comes back there's a bounce in his step and a pair of white bivalves on his palms that resemble swan wings.

"You like?" Reiki-en smiles excitedly, that same boyishly innocent, sun-drenched smile that stands out in full color against his bloody memories of the tides.

Prometo doesn't know why he's doing this; picking shells lying around the beach isn't his specialty and he doubts his former crewmates would be amused if they saw him now, but he sifts through the sand with his toes like Reiki-en taught him, keeping the lookout for tiny spurts of water as he goes. Sure enough, he finds a tiny moon snail for the head and two banded turrets for the legs. He adds a stalk of grass for the hair and bits of grit for the eyes, feeling silly and young again as he watches his companion craft a whole family from the pieces the waves keep spitting at their feet. The wings are ridiculously oversized for their shell art, and he wonders if this is how Icarus felt when he first tried on the proportions of his wax-strung feathers.

"What will we name them?" Reiki-en asks, prompting the Spaniard to list surnames he's encountered on his travels.

Their first creation is a girl; he dubs it _Señorita Laura _in memory of dark hair and bright eyes and a voice entwined with his childhood.

Reiki-en fashions a cute little cat complete with whiskers and Prometo finds himself debating the merit of disassembling the shell mosaic and taking it back home.

Or to the inn. An inn. Somewhere. He still doesn't have a place to stay the night.

Sensing his distress, Reiki-en tugs his wrist and leads him toward what he recognizes as the path to the pearl divers' huts. This time he knows better than to ask questions when the door rustles open, or a plate of abalones disappears into his stomach, or when Reiki-en unrolls a mat for Prometo to sink into for the night.

Tonight when he stares at the moon he thinks of Icarus, the stubborn youth with borrowed wings, a fool adrift on the very waves he hoped to escape. Maybe when the last of the feathers were washed off, the sea took pity on the boy. Maybe someone found him.

Maybe a mermaid did.


	4. Chapter 4

When Prometo wakes up, there's a girl in the hut.

"Your friend left," she says. "Reiki-en told me not to disturb you. The boats need extra workers during peak season and he's filling in for his sister.

"Okay," he replies, putting on his most charming smile. "Thank you."

With Reiki-en busy at sea, he goes exploring. The marketplace is full of gossip as he expects, and a few well-placed questions are all it takes to learn the full history of the island.

Boring stuff, of course, but the community is nice, and before the day is over Prometo gets two free meals, plays with all the kids in the village, learns the rules of the tea drinking ceremony, participates in a dance, and successfully convinces an elderly man to start a cacao bean plantation.

Then the tub boats are brought in and Reiki-en presents him with a gift of sea urchins for dinner.

"Careful," Reiki-en warns him as he struggles with the spiny ball creatures. His efforts prove successful at last, and the simple meal of mussels and sea urchins paired with seaweed and rice balls turns out to be the best he's ever had in months.

Candlelight falls softly on the coral centerpiece, casting shadows around the room. Reiki-en's eyes aren't the only things that flicker in the dancing lights; there's an entire treasure trove in the divers' hut that Prometo imagines would bring a fortune back in Spain.

"Ever thought of selling these colored rocks? You know, a few hundred chunks of these where I came from and the right buyer could make you filthy rich."

Reiki-en looks horrified. "But they're the homes of the fish," he protests, as if the silver-scaled things he had for lunch were the greatest wealth of the universe.

"You could build a home for a duke with all that gold," Prometo tries in vain to persuade him, but Reiki-en is a stubborn one, and his love for the sea is stronger than Prometo's has ever been.

"We can take from the ocean, but never too much. Only what she gives us," Reiki-en says with a fierce glint in his eyes.

It sounds painfully naïve. And so, so real. For the first time since they met, Prometo envies the boy.

There was a time when he, too, felt such passion, such _conviction_, such blind faith— before the greed of the buccaneers and the treachery of his own mates sucked the life out of him. Sometimes he wishes he could go bring back those times, back to when his younger self thought the world existed to be explored, and every rainbow meant a new adventure, and every bard's pledge of love to the ocean rang true.

A fool he was then, a fool he is now. But something in Reiki-en and the cold warmth of these foreign waters makes him want to believe.

* * *

The next day Prometo goes fishing.

He _tries_.

He tries but the years at sea have taught him more about the inner workings of a ship than a fish's appetite, so his catch that day is pathetic compared to his seasoned companions. Reiki-en takes one look at the contents of his bucket, laughs his heart out, and makes the grumbling Spaniard swear to accompany him on their next dive.

"Don't worry," Reiki-en assures him. "I won't let you drown."

It is then that Prometo notices the winding stripes on the boy's ankle— the telltale sign of a jellyfish sting. "That wasn't there last time," he observes, leaning over to get a better view of the threads marking the boy as the water's own.

"Hmm… I wasn't careful enough," Reiki-en explains sheepishly.

"It must have hurt like hell."

"It did."

Reiki-en turns his face to the sea. The steady rocking of the waves grows louder now. They're waiting. They're _listening_.

This calls for a good story.

Prometo squats on a rock and gestures for Reiki-en to do the same. A flock of seagulls fly overhead, and he begins his tale.

"The past year… was crazy. I needed a break from the pirate life. Somehow I got hired as a bullfighter but wasn't too good at it. Needed bandages every week – like _here, here_, and this really _long_ one that left a scar… scared the wits out of me you know! Finally stopped when a bull got really mad and nearly gored me to death," he laughs. "After that, I searched for a better job. I wasn't ready to return to the sea, so I found a job as a clown at a local circus."

"You made people laugh?"

Prometo kicks a piece of wood coated in barnacles. He finds a speckled shell underneath and tosses it into the air. A pair of pincers wiggle out; the occupant is a hermit crab, and it doesn't look too happy going airborne. Prometo sets it back down on the sand and continues his tale.

"I made a fool of myself, that's what. But the kids loved it! It wasn't too bad; I had fun too— until some bounty hunters mistook me for this outlaw in town. _'Tis the beard_,' they said. '_The exact same beard we been looking for.' _As if that proves anything! Well, the big guys were furious_ – _kicked me out without a single penny. So, no money, no job— I stole lunch, hightailed out of there, shaved my beard, became a barber's apprentice, found myself in the wrong tavern, lost everything I had overnight, got roped into a stupid treasure hunt, survived a shipwreck, and here I am. No limbs missing, I daresay."

"You're not a pirate anymore."

"Nope. My glory days are over," he confesses. "All that swashbuckling's for wigs and scalps now. I'm just a poor man with too many dreams to fit in his skull."

"Don't you miss sailing?"

Does he?

_No_, he admits to himself. He doesn't miss sailing. He _needs_ it. Like a crutch. Like the mainspring of a watch. Like family.

"Aye," Prometo says at last. "The sea calls to me every night. But land isn't too bad, for a change." He grins and ruffles Reiki-en's hair. "And you, my friend, need a haircut."

Reiki-en self-consciously reaches for the strands sweeping across his forehead. He tries tucking them behind his ear, but the wind frustrates his attempts, till he gives up and huffs.

"I got engaged, you know. She was pretty. Her name reminded me of the sea," he goes on, feeling another dose of nostalgia squeezing his lungs. "'Twas a shame it didn't work out. Girl was sweet and kind, but she loved the countryside and there was just too much pirate blood in me." 

"Do you miss her?"

"Sometimes. I missed the ocean more. Not as much as you do, of course, but I did." _If I wasn't a fool, I would have come back sooner,_ he doesn't say.

Prometo chuckles mirthlessly. "Well, enough about me, how are you doing? Aside from the tentacle tattoo of course."

Reiki-en is silent for a moment. His expression looks troubled, and he bites his lips and grimaces before finally speaking. "I— I met someone."

"Oooooh, bet she's _pretty_," Prometo jokes, elbowing Reiki-en in the side. "Is she a pearl diver too?"

The boy shakes his head. "Osa-san isn't a pearl diver."

"Osa-san? That's your lucky girl?"

Reiki-en frowns. "Osa-san, from Canada. Teacher. Works in big ship. _Not a girl_."

"Osa… Orser? You mean _Orser_?"

The boy nods.

Now that's a surprise. Who would have thought the famous merchant turned mentor would visit this part of the world too?

"I've met him at the docks once. There's this guy he keeps hanging out with, Ghisleigne. He knows all about jumping through hoops in a circus."

"Osa-san wants me to come with him to Canada. He said I could go to school. But Canada is far away. And I cannot speak their language."

"Well I can. You'd have to cross an ocean to find me though," is the Spaniard's lame attempt at a joke, but Reiki-en's eyes look even sadder than before.

"I'm going to miss everyone. And I'll miss this place. This sea."

"The sea will wait," Prometo quickly assures him. He knows this from experience. He knows this because he too has always feared getting lost and having no one to welcome him back.

"You think so?" Hopeful eyes stare at him, hanging on his every word.

And Prometo sighs, long and blessed, feeling a swell of gratitude at last for finding his way back. "Trust me, it will wait for you. It always does."

* * *

Today the sea spell isn't working. Prometo whistles to himself as the Orser guy talks to Reiki-en before boarding the ship. The boy has bid goodbye to his family, his friends, and every living soul on this island.

Except for him.

This scene feels strangely familiar, only this time it isn't Prometo who's leaving.

He'll miss Reiki-en.

He really, really will. He probably should—

"Hey, Prometo?" someone calls him.

It's Orser.

He squints against the noon heat. "Yeah?"

"Do you wanna come along?"

_"_Do I want to – _what? _Come with you? To _Canada_? Why?"

"I have a proposal. This lad is smart, but for the life of me, I have no idea what he says!"

"You need an interpreter?"

"You need a job?"

"Okay," Prometo agrees, scarcely able to wrap his mind around the turn of events. "Okay."

"Well then, consider yourself hired. And better finish packing, boys. When dawn comes, we set sail for Canada!"

Prometo glances at Reiki-en. The boy's smile is infinitely brighter now. And the sea— the cruel, dazzling sea— it sings of life and adventure and this time Prometo hears it.

The sails rise with the eastern gales and Reiki-en leans on the rails, eyes trained on the gyrating seascape ahead.

"Ready?" Prometo asks, though he knows the answer.

Reiki-en presses a white scallop shell to his chest.

"Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end. :D


End file.
